


Tour of Duty

by Phylwannabe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Family Feels, Military Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylwannabe/pseuds/Phylwannabe
Summary: Jon Snow has gone beyond the Wall on a dangerous mission. It is a six month tour of duty. His wife, Sansa Stark, stays behind with their two small boys, and soldiers on. She misses him and worries that, if he does not return,  she will forget the little details about him that made her fall in love with him in the first place. Sometimes the hardest tour of duty is waiting.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	Tour of Duty

The young woman glides silently through her home on sock clad feet. She has just fastened the lock on the back door and checked in on the twins who are sleeping soundly, having finally succumbed after a morning of playing in the snow, followed by a lunch of their favorites - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, mac ‘n cheese, and applesauce. She now checks the front door, also secure, and then moves through the archway from the hallway into the small parlor. Her gaze is drawn to the bay window. She sits on the cushioned window seat and looks out on a late winter Northern afternoon.

Christmas has come and gone and the early winter enthusiasm for new snow and breathtaking cold has disappeared right along with discarded Yule trees. New Year’s and Valentine’s Day have passed as well and most Northerners are now residing well beyond the sarcastic phase of _Oh, joy! Another five feet of snow_ and are getting really close to the total disgust of _Enough already! Where is spring?_

Sansa Snow has no opinion for, or concern about, the weather. She is living in limbo; it matters not one bit to her if it snows, rains, hails, or the sky suddenly opens up and a horde of dragon locusts descend. Sansa has more or less been in this dreadful state of suspended animation since October when her husband left on an emergency tour of duty - _top secret of course! -_ with the Night’s Watch. If not for her boys, she is sure she would have sunk into total despair before now. Still, after two months without any word from Jon, Sansa thinks she has finally hit the bottom of her reservoir of moral fortitude. She drags her finger aimlessly across the condensation which has formed on the window pane; the seal was bad and Jon didn’t have time to cross off that repair on his "To Do" list before he was called up.

Sansa draws herself fully up onto the seat, wraps her arms around her crossed legs and leans her forehead against the window pane. Her long side braid is a vivid slash of red against the muted blue and gray patterns of the cushions. Sansa closes her eyes, and tries to envision Jon and what he might be doing at that moment. It is a game she mentally plays throughout every day. _I just woke up; where did Jon spend the night - in a warm bunk or outside in the bitter cold? The boys and I are making a snowman in the front yard; is Jon facing something far more terrifying than a figure with a carrot nose, two coal eyes. and a broomstick sword?_ _We’ve just eaten; is he hungry or is his belly full as well? I’ve just given the boys a bath and we are sitting in the family room in front of the fireplace, warm and happy; is he at a base somewhere playing poker and drinking a beer with the guys or is he in a fight for his very life? I am going to sleep now, all by myself in the big bed you made with your own talented hands; are you well, my love, are you safe?_

Bird like chirping sounds and Sansa draws back sharply, leaping off the seat to run to the kitchen where she has left her cell phone. She wipes at her eyes, picking up the phone and sliding her finger over the cover to reveal the caller. Thank the gods; it is her Mum! Her greatest fear is receiving a call from the Lord Commander at Castle Black - Mormont only calls when he has bad news to share.

Sansa presses _receive_ and leans against the counter. "Hi, Mum."

The next ten minutes goes according to a tried and true script. Sansa knows her lines perfectly and executes them flawlessly.

"Yes, Mum, we’re fine. The boys have had lunch and are sleeping right now."

"No, Mum, you don’t need to send Bran or Rickon over to plow for me. The neighbor boy came over this morning and shoveled us out."

"Mum, don’t worry Dad about that. Jon can fix it when he gets back. The drip isn’t that bad and with the cold, it’s actually good for the faucet to leak a bit. The pipes won’t freeze up that way."

"Yes, Mum, I saw Arya and Gendry on Tuesday. They came by with pizza for the boys."

"Don’t press her, Mum. Arya’s going to do things her own way. She may not want a big wedding like mine or even a destination wedding like Robb and Jeyne. Just be glad she’s getting married and that she and Gendry love each other."

"Of course, Mum, we’ll be over Sunday as always. We wouldn’t miss it. The boys are so excited to see Bran’s latest Lego creation."

"No, Mum, I haven’t heard from Jon. Yes, I know that it has been two months since he has called....Mum, he _would_ call if he could. You know that!"

Sansa listens a bit more, her pretty face reflecting the strain of her daily phone talk with Catelyn Stark. She interrupts with her usual, "Mum, gotta go. I need to get some chores done before the boys wake up. Love you, give my love to Dad."

Sansa pushes _end_ and slides her phone into the pocket of her jeans. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb, a habit she picked up from her absent husband. Sansa loves her mother, she really does, but Catelyn Stark is a force of nature that she can’t deal with right now. Not when her entire focus is on the date circled in red on the calendar hanging next to her fridge. March 30 - the date when Jon’s six month tour of duty will be over and he will come home to her and the boys.

***************************

After cleaning up from lunch, Sansa stands in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips, trying to decide what task she should tackle next. She should mop the boys’ bathroom and tidy the mud room. She needs to do a load of laundry; there is mending laying in her sewing basket by the couch that really needs to be done. She shakes her head; she will do what she _always_ does in the few private minutes she has to herself during the day.

Sansa checks on Ned and Benjen one more time. They are still sleeping soundly in their little twin beds which are lowered almost to the floor, assembled like that by Jon per her specifications. Jon had laughed over Sansa’s worry that the boys could fall out of bed in their sleep and break an arm. _This just makes it easier for them to crawl out of bed and climb into ours, Love,_ he had whispered in her ear, his arm wrapped around her waist while the boys had jumped up and down on their "big boy" beds. Sansa wraps her own arms around herself, trying to recall the feel of Jon’s chest against her back, the soft warmth of his breath, and the rumble of his deep laugh as it shivered along her spine. Ghost looks up from his perch between the twins’ bed as if he can sense her turmoil. Sansa purses her lips and shakes her head, mouthing, _Stay. Watch over the boys._ The dog lowers his great head on his paws, but keeps looking at her with the same solemn glance that his master used to win her heart years ago.

Sansa leaves her sleeping sons and their faithful guardian. She moves through the hallway and passes through the family room as she heads to the master suite. Once in her bedroom she closes the door softly behind her. She had fallen in love with the house as soon as she saw it, but it was the potential of a master suite, a _home within a home,_ as he had envisioned it, that had sold Jon on the purchase. The house was a simple two story bungalow, seventy-five years old and in sad repair when they found it. Ned had asked if they were sure and Catelyn had expressed displeasure that _her_ daughter would have to live in such a dump. But the neighborhood was settled, the schools were good, and it was really just a hop, skip, and jump from the mansion where she had grown up. Most importantly, the price was right.

Jon had money - loads of it - which had been socked away in a trust fund secretly established for him by his grandfather, Aerys, when he was born. But he stubbornly refused to use it, refusing to forget the shameful way his father had treated his mother when he was born. Jon had only learned of the money at 16 when his father, Rhaegar, had died. The teenager had been inclined to throw the money back in the Targaryen representative’s face, but Ned had stopped him. Knowing even then that Jon was likely going to be his son-in-law, Ned had persuaded the boy to accept the funds and to invest them for his, and Sansa’s, future. Jon had made Ned promise to keep the fact that he was suddenly a very young millionaire (many times over) from the rest of the Starks and Ned, true to his word, had done exactly that. Sansa had often thought that, ironically, the inevitable fact of her life with Jon would have been much easier for her mother to accept if Catelyn had only known about the money. As it was, Jon had only told Sansa after they were engaged and the rest of the Starks learned about his wealth only when the twins had been born. That was when Jon had instructed Ned to transfer a substantial sum from his account into two new trusts for the infants.

Jon, in his wonderfully stubborn, honorable manner, had paid for the house with cash earned and saved from his Night’s Watch commission. While Sansa planned the wedding of the century, Jon had spent every moment of his spare time working tirelessly on the house. The house was special to Sansa because Jon had literally fashioned it - remodeled it, added on to it - with his own hands. He refused to take any shortcuts and the finished product was a spectacular home that amazed even Catelyn. Nowhere was the end result more evident than in the master suite which was comprised of a wood paneled study and a huge bedroom housing the most magnificent bed sitting opposite a cozy fireplace. Then there was the luxurious bath and a closet so spacious that Sansa’s substantial wardrobe took up less than half of the space Jon had provided for her.

Sansa sinks down on the bed, holding on to the bed post to steady herself. This room was where she felt closest to Jon. Their marriage was centered in this room. They had spent their wedding night here before leaving on their Dornish honeymoon. Jon had protested, but Sansa had insisted. Where else to experience their wedding night and all that came with it but in the rooms that her groom had fashioned with his own two hands? Sansa closes her eyes, trying again to recall the exact feeling of those talented hands as they were employed in worshiping her body. Five months in on this tour of duty and it was getting harder and harder for her to remember those feelings. The gradual loss of these fragile memories kept Sansa in a constant state of agitation. She can’t tell anyone, not even her best friend, Margery, but she is terrified that something will happen to Jon and that she won’t be able to summon up even one vivid memory of what he _sounded_ like, what he _smelled_ like, what he _felt_ like.

It hadn’t been so bad right after Jon had left. Sansa had been extremely busy looking after Ned and Benjen. It was October and that meant fall activities galore....raking leaves up into huge piles in the backyard for the boys and Ghost to destroy. Then there was a trip to the pumpkin patch, followed by hayrides on the estate, bonfires and cookouts, roasting hot dogs and the boys’ first s’mores. Jon wasn’t there so Sansa had taken up the slack. Halloween came and Sansa had stayed up late fashioning two very cute costumes. The boys became _Men of the Wall_ , like their father, except their costumes were fashioned in the medieval tradition of the Night’s Watch rather than the high tech garb Jon now wore. Ghost had gone as a direwolf....not a lot of work there. Sansa had debated the extra work needed to dress up, but then threw herself into producing a period perfect replica of the coronation gown of Sansa the First, Queen of the North (and Sansa’s namesake). There had been the annual costume party at the big house, then Halloween, and _candy, candy, candy,_ everywhere.

Jon had been able to face time with them from time to time in the first month or so. That was how he was able to gush over how fierce Ned and Benjen looked in their costumes, giving his boys an imaginary _High Five_ over the load of sweets they had drug home after Trick or Treat. He had praised Ghost’s transformation into a legendary beast of the North. But it was his eyes, dark and steady, trailing down Sansa’s costume in open appreciation, that had left her wet and wanting. Sansa had been up most of the night after the call ended, tossing and turning, until she finally took matters in hand, so to speak, and fell asleep, sated and satisfied.

After that it had been November and with it came all the preparations for Thanksgiving. Catelyn had swooped in and transported her and the boys to Winterfell for the entire week before the holiday. Her mother had kept her busy with preparing all the Stark and Tully handmade recipes from which no corner could be cut. Pie after pie was created and stored in the baking pantry. The whole family descended and while in the midst of an argument over dark vs. white meat, Jon had called. Everyone, including her Mum, wanted a turn with the phone. When it finally made its way back to Sansa, she ended _handsfree_ which was a good thing because Jon had then spent the last two minutes of his call describing to Sansa in explicit detail just exactly what he wanted to do _with_ her and _to_ her. Sansa had turned beet red and only managed to gasp out that yes, she loved him and missed him too, before thrusting the phone into Robb’s hand and running, literally sprinting, to the bathroom. Sansa then finished the job Jon’s words had initiated, her desperate moans stifled by a bath towel pressed against her face. Luckily everyone, except _maybe_ Arya, had attributed Sansa’s sudden rush to the bathroom to being overcome with emotion and her dear Mum and Dad had even enveloped her in their arms when she returned, murmuring that _Jon will be home before you know it, dear._

Christmas was a repeat of Thanksgiving, except on steroids. The twins had turned three just before Jon left so this was the year when Ned and Benjen became aware that there would be presents left under the tree _if they were good._ Both little boys tried so hard to behave but they were simply beside themselves with excitement. For Sansa, pressing on without Jon to help, Christmas meant even more work – shopping, wrapping, decorating, and baking. She took the boys skating and to the public library for a special reading of _The Night Before Christmas_ which ended with a surprise appearance from _Father Christmas_ himself. As the boys sat on his lap, Sansa leaned close in order to hear. Ned and Benjen were so solemn as they told the old elf that while toys were very nice, they had both decided that what they _really_ wanted was for their Daddy to come home safe. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she hugged her sons and received a sympathetic hug of her own from _Father Christmas._

On Christmas Eve she and the boys went to a candlelight service with her family. Sansa lit a special candle for Jon, praying that God would grant her little boys’ fervent wish and return their Daddy to them, safe and sound. While Ned and Catelyn wanted her to come home with them afterwards, Sansa insisted that she and the boys would spend Christmas morning at home. Sansa and Jon had talked about it a lot and they both agreed that Christmas morning should be just for their little family before they joined all the rest of the Starks for the day. Jon wasn’t here but Sansa would uphold their planned tradition.

Sansa had put the boys to bed, Ghost sprawled between them, and she was sitting before the fireplace in the den when she noticed a small package wrapped in Christmas plaid with a beautiful red bow sitting on the coffee table. She looked around; it hadn’t been there before - she was certain. Picking it up, she recognized her husband’s scrawl on the tag. _For: Sansa, From: Jon._

With trembling fingers, she opened the package to reveal a stunning necklace. The small pendant hanging from the fine golden chain was in the shape of a wolf, fashioned from beaten gold and silver. The only color was a small ruby lodged in the wolf’s eye. Sansa grasped the necklace, tears streaming down her face. As she sniffled, the pendant pressed to her lips, Sansa noticed a card underneath the box. She opened the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper from it.

_Sans: when you open this (thank Robb for sneaking it in the house), know that I likely won’t be able to call to wish you and the boys a Merry Christmas. I am in the thick of it now, so think happy thoughts to keep me strong. Give Ned and Benj a big hug from their Daddy; tell them I love them and think of them all the time. Sweetheart, this small gift is just a token of my love for you. I was passing Varys’ Jewelers right before I left when I saw this pendant in the window and I knew that it was meant for you. (The red ruby was my addition, to make it look a bit like Ghost. I know that my good dog is looking after you and the boys)._

_You have always been my Lady Wolf, tougher than you realize. This is your tour of duty as much as mine and I know that you are soldiering on without me. Keep the faith, Sans, and I will make it home to you. I miss you more than you can imagine. The guys all say that my broody face is even worse this time around. I tell them that if you were theirs and they had to leave you, they would brood too. Be strong, Darling Sansa. I love you._

_Your devoted Jon_

_P. S._

_Wear the pendant to bed, and nothing else. I will think very HARD about you at midnight on Christmas morning and hope you will think of me as well._

Sansa had followed Jon’s instructions to the letter. As a result, Christmas had started with her invoking the Lord’s name, along with her husband’s name, in ever escalating moans. Knowing for sure that Jon was also thinking of her, Sansa gave herself yet another spectacular present.

***********************************

Jon was able to call only once, very briefly, in January. The connection had been terrible. He had to shout for her to hear him, and it sounded as if his unit was on the move. Sansa had heard only a broken "love you" before the call went dead. She had sat in the middle of their big bed and cried until she fell asleep. The remainder of the month was cold and dreary. Sansa tried to keep strong as Jon had asked, but it was getting really hard for her to keep her chin up. She was eternally grateful for her family, for her Mum and Dad, of course, but also her siblings. There was Robb, who showered attention on Ned and Benjen, acting as a much needed surrogate for the boys’ father. Jeyne came over with coffee sometimes – just because. Bran and Rickon kept her boys entertained with their antics and always dropped by to shovel snow or put petrol in the SUV even before she asked. And then there was Arya. Sansa was thankful beyond words for her little sister. She had never been close to Arya, not like Jon, whom Arya idolized. More than anyone in the family, it was Arya who seemed to understand what Sansa was going through. At the end of January, when Sansa thought she might break into pieces if she had to sleep one more night alone, Arya had suddenly shown up with Gendry in tow. Gendry was given a blanket and deposited on the couch in the den while Arya curled up with Sansa in the master bedroom. Holding her sister’s hand through the long night had calmed Sansa and helped her continue on.

Now it was almost March and Jon had been gone for five long months. Sansa hadn’t heard anything from Jon since the call in January. For the first time in their five year marriage, she hadn’t received a Valentine from her husband. Sansa knew that Jon would call if he could and that only increased her worry and fear. _Where was he?_ Sansa began a ritual. Every day when she woke up, she would go to the calendar first thing. Taking a black marker in one hand and holding the wolf around her neck in the other, she would make a big "X" through the day prior. The only thing keeping her sane at this point was seeing the progression of black marks, moving closer and closer to the date circled in red. Just over a month and he would be home. _Gods keep him safe, don’t take him now. Not when he is so close to coming home._

Sansa comes back to herself. She is still sitting on the bed, her legs drawn up underneath her, and her hand is stroking the ever-present wolf necklace. She pulls her phone from her pocket, noting the time. It is almost three; she needs to wake the boys up or they will never go to sleep at bedtime. She glances over to the picture of Jon that sits on her bedside table. Sansa leans over and picks up the black frame. Jon looks back at her: his dark eyes solemn, but with just the hint of a smile curving his luscious lips.

Sansa runs her fingers over his face and closes her eyes. He is so beautiful and if she concentrates just so, she can see him moving toward her. He walks like a wolf stalking his prey; moving gracefully but with such a naturally masculine swagger. His dark hair is hanging down, much longer than it had been when he buzzed it right before he took off for the Wall, his soft, loose curls blowing in the faint breeze. He wears a black, long sleeve shirt, but as always the shirt is pushed up above his elbows to reveal muscular arms with prominent veins running through them. He is in jeans that fit him like a glove and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination. Not that Sansa needs too much imagination to remember certain parts of her husband. Just before he reaches her, she sniffs the air.

Sansa desperately wants to remember what Jon smells like. He _always_ smelled so good. Unfortunately his delicious scent has faded from her memory over the past five months, just like it has faded from his clothes hanging in the closet and the pillowcase which Sansa has refused to wash.

Frustrated, Sansa thinks of his voice. She knows that his voice is husky and deep, full of the Northern brogue that she loves so much. But try as she may, she can’t _hear_ him anymore.

What about his touch? Sansa tries to remember Jon’s touch: she knows it was gentle and kind, but also that it could be hard, strong and oh, so electric. _Concentrate, Sansa! Remember what it felt like to be in his arms, to have him touch you, your hair, your face, your body._

Sansa opens her eyes and lays back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She thought she would never forget any detail about her husband, but that is not so. Jon is starting to fade from her; aided by his pictures she can still see him in her imagination, but she is finding it very hard to remember his scent, his voice, his touch. All the things that made Jon Snow unique -- so hard to resist and _so_ very easy to love. She closes her eyes again and let the tears flow. She is forgetting bits of Jon; does that mean that he is _not_ coming back?

Sansa shakes her head. No, no, she won’t let that happen. She _will_ remember Jon. It is her job, her role, to remember her soldier, to keep him alive! She concentrates so hard that she knows she will have a headache at bedtime. She lays there for what seems like an hour until, amazingly, she smells Jon. His scent is so familiar. How could she have forgotten the mixture of pine, cold, clean air, and aftershave? She has it back. _Keep going Sansa. REMEMBER your husband’s voice._

Sansa keeps her eyes shut tight. She is holding on to the wolf around her neck as if her life depended on it. She thinks about Jon, what he sounds like, what he would say, and then suddenly, miraculously, she hears his voice. _Darling girl, have you missed me?_

Sansa is energized; she just needs to keep concentrating and maybe she can remember Jon’s touch. The fingers on the hand that are not clutching the necklace twitch in the air. She is trying so hard to remember exactly how Jon feels that she is actually sweating. _Jon, I need to feel you – just once._

Sansa grasps an impossibly warm, hard arm. She runs her fingers up and down in disbelief. She has done it! She remembers her Jon!

Sansa opens her eyes and moves to sit up, only to be stopped by the very same impossibly warm, hard arm she has just conjured in her mind. She looks up; the arm is attached to a muscular shoulder which is attached to an equally strong neck. _How could she have ever forgotten Jon’s lovely neck and that terrifically appealing diamond shaped indentation that she always nuzzled in order to warm her nose?_

Sansa looks up to see a familiar chin, then lips, nose, and finally, beautiful chocolate eyes which meet her own bright blue. "Jon," she breathes. Her imagination – come to life – is pressing her back into the bed, and Jon covers her mouth with his even as her hands reach to tangle into his hair, pulling him even closer.

Sansa sighs, "You came back early. How?"

Jon nuzzles into her hair and then kisses Sansa’s ear, blowing softly into it in a way that he knows drives her mad. "Finished the tour early. The fellas all missed their wives. Married men are more motivated to find the target and complete the objective so they can get back home."

Sansa grins, an impossibly goofy, happy grin. "So you’re home for good?"

Jon nods even as he begins to move down her body. He stops when he see the direwolf. "You’re wearing it?" Sansa takes his hand and places it over the pendant. "I never take it off." Jon smiles, a slow, deliciously sinful smile. "Did you wear it like I asked you to? On Christmas morning, at midnight?"

Sansa looks deep into his eyes, biting her lip, and her head bobs, slowly, up and down. Jon picks up the little wolf and fingers it, "Must have been good luck, Sans. I was in a scrape or two this time that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get out of."

After five long months of deprivation, Sansa suddenly feels the urge to take charge, to be in control. She pushes Jon until he lands on his back and she sits astride his chest, her necklace dangling between them. Sansa begins frantically removing her clothes, his clothes, as she smothers her husband with kisses. "You’re back and I’m never going to let you go again! This is the end of your tour of duty, Soldier."

Jon looks up at her and runs his fingers down her bright hair, shining in the late winter light. He brings her face down to meet his, murmuring, "End of one tour of duty. But I _do_ have a new commission, Sans."

Sansa pulls back with a sharp gasp. "Jon! Don’t tell me you have to go back beyond the Wall!"

Jon runs his hands down her shoulders, resting on her arms. Suddenly, without warning, he flips his wife, so that she is underneath him and they are fully connected, face to face, chest to chest, body to body. He picks up the wolf lying against her breast and kisses it. "The only place I plan on going, Lady Wolf, is South."

Sansa whispers a question, "South?" but Jon doesn’t answer because he is focused on his new mission, moving down relentlessly as he kisses every inch of her body. Good soldier that she is, Sansa suddenly remembers _everything._

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be working on my multi-chapter work, but Sansa's voice keeps ringing in my ear. I love writing from her perspective - about Jon, of course! This is also a story recognizing the bravery of military families who wait for word about their soldiers. They truly serve their countries with their own kind of tour of duty.  
> I may be inspired to follow up with an epilogue of sorts....we shall see.


End file.
